What happens in York
by mrs.molesley
Summary: a series of moments that Mr. Molesley and Ms. Baxter spend in York, on their mission to prove Mr. Bates's innocence ... Because I often wondered what those days they spent together away from Downton could have been like.
1. The Cold

A/N: I have ideas, but no time to write them down.

\- This might become a collection of moments spent during that time when Baxter and Molesley tried to prove Mr. Bates's innocence, no promises.

* * *

Woolen scarf wrapped around his neck, steaming hot cup of tea in one hand and a much needed handkerchief in the other, Joseph Molesley felt immensely out of place sitting at the bar of the third pub on their list today. He almost regretted not staying at home, is his relatively warm bed when an exceptionally terrible sneeze shook him. Oh, what he would have given now for a bowl of Mrs. Patmore's homemade soup, brought up to him by a friendly faced Andy or Daisy who would try to cheer him up with some newly acquired knowledge about one historical event or another. Or her … His eyes fixed on the woman who had in the past two weeks made it her task to care for him when a horrible cold had more or less tied him to his bed.

Always kind and eager to take on even the worst of cases, she hadn't backed off when he told her what an impossibly stubborn patient he could be. Or when a particularly nasty drunk had all but shouted at her to leave him alone earlier that day. They had left the shady pub soon after, but Joseph still felt the rage building up inside him like fire when he remembered those words. He wished he was at his normal strength and that he had done more than just drag his companion away and out in the early winter cold.

He thought of the heroes in his books, true gentlemen who would defend a lady's honour at every opportunity they got – not once in all the novels that he had read, had he come across a puffy eyed, aging footman who saved the day.

'Miss Baxter doesn't need heroes', a low voice that sounded suprisingly enough like Thomas Barrow, spoke up in his head. It was right, Joseph silently agreed when he let his thoughts drift back to the situation. The way she had handled the moment, calm and polite and controlled, it suddenly occured to him that this hadn't been the first time in Miss Baxter's life to be confronted with an unreasonably aggressive person. It hurt his heart to see even a glimpse of what she must have had to cope with in the past, and he admired her for her seemingly inexhaustible strength.

„Tha' one's certainly a keeper, aye?!" a voice close to him barked and caused Joseph to jump slighty in his seat. The bartender was an unpleasant guy, with half of his teeth missing, hair sticking on his head by a disgustingly high amount of product and his breath full of alcohol. But at least he was cooperative enough to let them question his guests for nothing more than two cups of peppermint tea in return. He nods in the general direction of where Miss Baxter is standing with a dirty smily on his lips.

„She's not … she – I mean, we … she's my friend. Best friend." Molesley explained clumsily, but with an air of defense.

"Well, if yer sayin' so..." the bartender shrugged and turned back to another customer, not without another glance at Miss Baxter who was swiftly doing what they had come to York for, today and all the other times before. About halfway through their list of pubs by now, it had begun to seem less and less likely that they would ever come across anyone who remembered John Bates from his own visit in a pub a few months prior. So far, everyone who they had talked to were either one-time bypassers or the constantly drunk regulars who possibly wouldn't be able to remember Bates if their lives depended on it.

Joseph felt another wave of protectiveness flood him as soon as his eyes followed the man's gaze upon the lady's maid's backside. She did look lovely, he thought, with her loose-cut coat wrapped around her slender frame and her hair shining slightly in the dimmed light from bits of snow that had found their way under her hat. Lately, Molesley had often found himself lost in thoughts like this, pondering over the exact shade of Miss Baxter's hair or thinking how fragile she really was under all those layers of clothing. Maybe he was feverish. He wasn't looking at her like the bartender was, was he?

The thought alone made him nervous and fidgety, causing him to almost knock over his teacup when he grabbed it absentmindedly and just as soon let go of it again, his hand hurting from the sudden contact with the burning heat.

Joseph couldn't help but feel a bit useless. He was ill, washed-out and his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, leaving no space for any coherent thought. Maybe the wise thing would really have been to stay at home, leaving Phyllis to go to York by herself for a second time in two weeks. He knew he couldn't after he had been almost sick with worry that first time around already. All day long, he had barely closed his eyes for a much needed rest, wondering instead where she was, if another unsuccessful search had left her disspirited and in need for a cheering up, or if she was having a breakthrough without him. He could not hold back a beaming smile that evening, despite feeling overly tired and worn out, when she walked through his door with the usual soup and tea on a tray. And when she confessed, in a meek voice and with her typical shy smile, that she was in a way relieved that she hadn't solved their case that one time when he wasn't able to be there with her, Joseph had sworn himself that he would not let another day off pass where he didn't accompany her to York.

Of course, Miss Baxter had been reluctant at first upon him insisting to go with her, when she had noticed how ill he really was, still, even a week later. However, after a half-hearted argument and attempted puppy dog eyes from his side that made her smile and shake her head in a way that expressed very clearly how childish she thought him, they had come to agree that she would take him with her on the one condition that he would rest as much as possible and let her do the questioning.

By the time he nipped on his cup again, the tea had gone almost cold, making him grimace at the bitter taste. Before he could order a third cup though, his eyes met those of his companion, who watched him from the other side of the room. Even in the distance he saw her sad smile and the apologetic shrug. She slowly strode over to the bar.

"Nothing?" He asked in a tired voice that had become too familiar to them lately.

"No, nothing", she replied, equally frustrated. Concern was eminent in her voice and eyes when she noticed the poor state her friend was in. "We should be heading home. It's late, and you're glowing. I hope you didn't catch a fever!"

Without even a single protesting word he let her fuss over him for a moment, feeling her hand on his forehead to test if he was indeed feverish, and feeling himself blush under the touch, silently praying that she wouldn't notice it had nothing to do with his cold. His thoughts drifted back to the bartender's words...Should that man who didn't know him a bit have been right, after all? Joseph had convincingly told himself that he was only so eager to get back to York because it was their mission, together, not hers alone while he sat comfortably in bed, and because he had felt terribly distressed about the idea of sending her out alone. But maybe it wasn't just that, the little voice in his head spoke up again, maybe all this time spent together did change things between them – he was certain now, that he was indeed hallucinating already. Only faintly, he noticed his coat being pulled closer around him.

At last, they left the pub, after Phyllis had wrapped them both up warmly in their respective coats and hats. Somewhere along the way to the station, her hand had slipped into his. She would later insist that it was purely to keep him steady on his feet. Just as he would deny that him sitting next to her in the compartment (as opposed to sitting across from her, with a respectable distance between them) had any other reason than being as close to her as decency would allow. And when had he started to call her by her given name in his head, anyway?


	2. The Plan

A/N: Happy Christmas, everyone! This (obviously) takes place before the previous chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

Her eyes hurt.

It wasn't that late yet but the sparse light made her tired and herwork so much harder to finish. She almost regretted having decided against the idea from earlier of taking the dress upstairs to her own room where the larger rooftop window allowed a bit more evening light inside than the ones down in the ever dark servant's hall. But she wouldn't want to risk missing her Ladyship's bell, especially not with no one else around to alert her in case she did miss the ringing sound.

It was quiet.

From down the corridor Phyllis heard the clattering sounds of pans and pots being moved around and faint footsteps on the staircase. She could vividly imagine the scene in the kitchen, often enough had she observed and admired the busy but efficient work from the sidelines, always taking her utmost care to stay out of way of the kitchen staff and footmen. The hurry in which the meals were prepared, decorated and taken upstairs might look chaotic but it really was hard work and years of experience that had everyone know exactly what to do and when. Faint voices reached her ears and for a second she expected the chairs around her would soon scrape across the stone floor and the servant's hall would fill with chatter of her colleagues. But the talking subsided again and she remained alone. The upstairs dinner party wasn't over yet and the bells on the wall above the small table stayed still and silent, no matter how long she stared at them, daring them to start moving.

Blinking a few times to slightly ease the burning pain behind her lids, Phyllis settled for the task at hand once more. Attaching the strings of tiny beads to Lady Grantham's new dress was a tedious work that needed a lot of attention. Putting it off until after her Ladyship had gone to bed would only leave Phyllis more exhausted and with even less than her usual few hours of sleep in the end. There was no way around it, Lady Grantham wanted the dress finished in time for an important dinner that was only two days away and would be terribly disappointed if she couldn't wear it just because her lady's maid was tired.

She wouldn't show, probably shrug it off with a soft, understanding smile even. And yet, the thought alone of not meeting the standards that were expected of her, flooded Phyllis with so much embarrassment. She owed it to always do her best work for the woman who had been kinder to her than anyone else.

Almost anyone.

Not even her concentrating on the dress in her lap could keep Phyllis from letting her thoughts drift to the other person in the house who had been more understanding and protective than she deserved. She knew by now that his kindness came without conditions, if anything his words and expression earlier when she suggested going with him on his mission to prove Mr. Bates' innocence had shown that genuine friendliness was his only intention. She cherished that, it was a refreshing change from past experiences with men. It evoked in her a feeling of wanting to give something back – not in the way she wanted to please her employer but to show him she wanted to be by his side as much as he stayed at hers.

York.

Absentmindedly, she smiled down at the beads. When she had suggested it, her main reason had been to be of help after her talking to the police about the Bates' had caused the couple such troubles. Now, the prospect of being out alone with Mr. Molesley, visiting the numerous pubs of York, felt almost adventurous. She agreed with him about keeping the whole matter secret for now, until they had some sort of result to present. That was, if their upcoming trips would prove successful. If they weren't … - well, then they'd have a hard time explaining their outings to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. The idea both amused and frightened her equally, and a small chuckle escaped her lips.

"What's so funny, Miss Baxter?" a sneering voice cut through the silence, causing her to stiffen in an instant.

Her smile froze when she replied without turning her head around to face the source of her slight distress, "Nothing that would concern you, Mr. Barrow."

"You should know by now, Miss Baxter", the underbutler continued, now leaning dangerously close to her ear, "that it's not for you to decide what concerns me."

Months ago, it would have frightened her to hear the man she only remembered as a little boy talk to her like that, in that low, almost threatening voice. But that was before… everything, really. Things had changed for the better between them lately, they had even been partners in crime against that awful butler at Brancaster castle. It had reminded her of the time when they were still children and Phyllis used to make it her task to help her best friend's little brother whenever he had gotten himself in some sort of situation.

She wasn't frightened now. She knew it was just Thomas' way of letting her know he was important in the household. Harmless, a game really. He might have succesfully hidden the smile from appearing on his face upon her defensive reply, but it did not escape her in the changed tone of his voice.

Now fully alert she didn't miss the second pair of footsteps entering the room as she had with the first. Had she known that Mr. Molesley had caught sight of her in the servant's hall earlier when he was rushing by, or that his eyes had attentively followed Barrow when he made his way down the corridor, she couldn't have been surer that it was him who had joined them.

Usually, they would both linger inside the kitchen for a bit after a great dinner like today. The footmen always had to say a thing or two about the guests, conversation or the dinner itself and would find eager listeners in the maids and kitchen staff until Mr. Carson walked through the door and put a stop to the gossip with his presence alone. He did it with a timely precision that had Phyllis wondering sometimes if the usually so very correct and traditional butler might intentionally close one eye – or ear, rather – on his staff before shutting them down just in time to prevent any real gossip from being shared among the downstairs.

Tonight, she had had no time to wait for stories in the kitchen and five minutes of laughter. Tonight, she had a task at hand – one that she was now very glad of almost having finished, when Mr. Molesley spoke up in her defense. It was unnecessary but not unwelcome.

"Why won't you leave her alone?"

Thomas just rolled his eyes and went to sit down on the other side of the table, so that he would be able to observe the pair from across. The expression was missed by Phyllis who turned around to face her friend and reassure him.

"It's alright, Mr. Molesley. No harm done." Why did she blush, then, when he sat down next to her with that big smile upon his face that made him look slightly funny?

Only when most of the other servants had joined them around the table and conversation was flowing, did Molesley lean closer to his companion to softly talk to her. They found it often easier to talk freely when everyone else was occupied otherwise and not taking notice of the two of them.

"I have talked to Mr. Carson earlier and he agreed to allow me to take Friday off, if I must. He was a bit reluctant but he said that would be the only time he could spare one of us the whole day."

"This Friday?" She asked incredulously, "Well, that's fast."

Her slightly raised voice had alerted Thomas again who had turned his attention towrads them again now, his grin giving away his amusement. Phyllis noticed immediately, scolding herself for her carelessness and giving the man across her an annoyed look. Molesley was ever oblivious when he began to reply.

"Yes, this Friday. I had ho-"

"Shh, not here", she whispered back, nudging her head slightly. "I'm almost finished with this and then I have to get the matching shoes ready. The boot room will be near enough to hear her Ladyship's bell."

* * *

"Forgive me, please, I didn't mean to interrupt you earlier but –" Half-smiling she tilted her head apologetically to one side.

Carefully, and very much in his role of a footman treating everything in the house with a reasonable amount of respect, Molesley closed the door behind him. He was soon to object her silently with a pronounced shaking of his head.

"Oh, don't feel guilty. It was foolish of me to start talking about it when anyone could have overheard us. I was the one wanted it to stay our secret, and you helped me keep it. So, thank you."

Typical for him to make her feel better by taking the blame when she knew it should be her feeling sorry. Mirroring his smile it occurred to her that she might look just as foolish as he did, with a big grin on her face that reached her eyes. Quickly, she averted his gaze and turned her eyes down towards the black shoe she had been polishing for the last few minutes while she had waited for him to join her.

"You will be going this Friday, then? That is very soon, I'm not sure if I can get some time off on such short notice", she changed the subject to the one they had come the boot room for. Phyllis wasn't sure she rightfully deserved his thanks, or any of his kindness for that matter, but saying so or shrugging off his nice words as if they were nothing would only make things more awkward. She needed to keep a clear head to focus on the matter on hand. Something that became increasingly difficult when a lump formed in her stomach and she voiced her worries.

"I'd hate not being able to go with you, that first time", she confessed. She wasn't foolish enough to believe that her going with him was of any significance other than moral support. The plan was all his, Molesley had filled her in on some details already, enough to make sure of leaving her convinced he would manage perfectly fine by himself. What bothered her far more was the thought of her letting him down, and so soon already. Just this morning she had enthusiastically assured him to accompany him on his trip and already she feared she could not fulfill her promise. How she would hate to fail living up to the expectations she had kindled in him.

Yet again, he proved to her his unassuming generosity, telling her without a hint of doubt in his voice that he knew she would do her best asking Lady Grantham for a half-day, and that he would not hold it against her the slightest if she wasn't granted the time off. After having spent the better part of his life in service, Molesley knew well how far less replaceable the work of a lady's maid was compared to that of a footman. It was easy for Mr Carson to let him off for one day – in case a footman would be needed there was always Andy or even Mr. Barrow. But if Lady Grantham decided she would want her maid around for the day in case she might require her assistance, she wouldn't want Miss Baxter to be replaced by someone who wasn't used to her wishes and preferences as well as she was. She was an unusually nice mistress and would make amends if required, but certainly not to let her maid wander around in pubs.

"I will ask her tonight", she reassured him. This, and hoping for some miracle to happen that would cause Lady Grantham to agree to let her go for the day, was the least Phyllis could do. Her next words were a bold move, for her own standards. "And then I'll hurry to come back down, but would you … would you wait up for me?"

For a moment, Molesley looked so shocked that she feared her words might have some secret, inappropriate meaning in his mind. It was confusing how she only ever felt either totally safe around him or completely uncomfortable. Once again, her natural urge to explain herself kicked in and she spoke in her typical small, soft voice. "Of course, you have your own schedule, so please don't think I would want to keep you waiting. I only fear I might not be able to sleep at all if I have to wait until tomorrow to inform you of what she said. If it's bad news, that is."

It seemed to do the trick, as his face softened, a small smile even appearing on his lips once more. "Of course, I will. Wait! … I'll wait, is what I mean", the words left his mouth so quickly that he slightly stumbled over them. "I'd rather we knew tonight, as well."

"Good", she nodded."I need to go now, don't want to keep her Ladyship waiting. I can finish with those shoes later."

"I can do that! There is nothing else pressing to do, and it will keep me busy", he offered reaching out to take hold of the shoes. His fingers brushed against hers for a second. Before either of them realized it, the moment was gone, the shoes now in his firm grip. "I will wait", he affirmed again, "and then I will tell you the rest of my plan."

"Your plan?" She was amused and momentarily astounded how well he had thought it all through already. "I'm looking forward to it."

When she climbed up the stairs a few minutes later, she realized that it wasn't astounding at all really, for Mr. Molesley to have thought his plan well through. In fact, she was quite certain that in would have surprised her far more, had he told her it was all a spontaneous idea. Quite certain, indeed.


	3. a close call

**A/N:** Sorry for the super long delay in updating this story. I still have ideas for it in my head, but not much time to actually write them down. Please forgive me. I hope this makes up for it a bit.

* * *

He couldn't remember exactly when things had changed but by the end of their fourth trip to York, there was no denying the different atmosphere anymore, as Miss Baxter graced him with a soft smile from across the small table in the crowded pub. Molesley returned it, then turned his gaze back down towards his meal, slightly embarrassed by the affectionate gesture. Pushing around the food on his plate he was lost in thoughts, feeling a tinge of guilt when instead of focusing on the task at hand all he could think of was how relaxed his companion was that day. Gone were the worries and the ever-present frown over the possibility that they might not be successful in their attempt to help Anna and Mr. Bates. The changed attitude suited her, it made her look so … young.

Molesley blushed and stuffed a spoonful of stew in his mouth to keep himself distracted from those thoughts. He was used to his own daydreaming by now, there wasn't much else he did in his spare time since Miss Baxter had suggested to accompany him on his little mission, but he would better not risk it with the object of his thoughts right in front of him.

* * *

Phyllis Baxter was glad that Molesley had finally gotten over his cold by the fourth day they were to spend together in York. In the days between their last day off and the current visit she had worried that dragging the half-ill footman through York again might cause a backlash they couldn't afford. They had to find some evidence for Mr. Bates's innocence, they just had to, the sooner the better. And she would have dreaded to find it on her own, without Mr. Molesley around, when all had been his idea in the first place. How clever he was, she reflected, thinking of how he had told her his brilliant idea to search for someone who remembered seeing Mr. Bates on that fateful day. She chuckled inwardly – Molesley would certainly take a double turn at her choice of words, refusing to let himself be called brilliant in any regard. She liked that about him, he was modest, often to an extent of not quite believing compliments, shrugging them off and laughing awkwardly. She would tell him every day how wonderful she though the was if she could, to give his lacking confidence a well-deserved boost. But propriety stood in the way of expressing such praise. They were colleagues, friends, and nothing about that suggested her any right to speak so openly, even if she wanted to. And oh, how much she wanted to. How much she longed to be in a position of casually reaching across the table and take his hand, softly inquiring what had made him so quiet suddenly. But the almost burned down candle in the center of the table served as an invisible barrier between them. She pictured it in her mind … Molesley's head would snap up, his eyes going wide at the sudden touch, and she would quickly pull her hand back, as if burned. They'd not mention it again – that day or any other – but the certainty of having overstepped a mark would linger.

Not wanting to get lost in her thoughts, she put her attention back to her plate. If her own meal was any indication, this wasn't the best place in York to have dinner at. It looked like Molesley wasn't too keen on his, either, given that all he did was push his food from one side to the other. However, they had slightly lost track of time for a bit earlier and so had missed their usual train back home. Taking the late train would mean missing dinner at Downton and Molesley had wanted to make it up to her that his enthusiasm had caused their delay. So she wouldn't complain about the dry sliced ham or the overcooked potatoes , not when he was as gallant as ever, insisting on paying for both their meals.

They must have been an unusual sight, sitting so quietly at their table in the midst of men having their drink after a hard day of work, both lost in their own worlds with a meal in front of them just for the sake of it and because it was their usual dinner time. It was a restricted world they lived in, defined by rules and schedules that gave stability and reassurance on the one hand and felt antiquated and frustrating on the other at times. Without knowing it, or even presuming it likely, it was a thought they both had had more than just once this past month whenever they were secretly wishing for something to happen that might open an opportunity to express their fondness for each other.

To Phyllis, not being able to show her growing affection was almost physically painful. She wasn't proud of her past experience of the romantic sort with a man, it had been a relationship that hadn't exactly taught her restraint, quite contrary if she was honest with herself. She knew that how it was now, with Mr. Molesley, was the decent way for these things to proceed, how could it not be when all that was happening felt so right?!

She had been foolish enough once not to see past the compliments and empty promises and seemingly nice things a man had done for her, not even when he had started asking, no demanding, for things in return. Things that barely made up for a few dinners and visits to the cinema, things that had ruined her forever.

This time, she wouldn't be foolish, not with Mr. Molesley being so completely different in every regard from her past lover. He was so much more than she deserved, she knew that. And yet, there he was, accepting her company, accepting her friendship, accepting her. It made her heart flutter.

Phyllis was sure that Molesley would rather persist on letting her pay her own bill than wanting her to think he might have any ulterior motives, but had he really not? Despite everything being so different, so slow and pure, this time, her instincts told her that she didn't misread the lingering looks when he had thought she wasn't noticing. But she had noticed, that day when he had been too weak to walk around with her and had sat by the bar of their last stop instead, and she noticed them now, the little glances that were a mix of concern, kindness and something else that she was afraid to acknowledge, even to herself. They were nothing like the steadfast, lustful stares that used to give her goosebumps for various reasons. They were soft and they made her insides warm up, giving her the impression of being worthy and wanted, for herself instead of for what she would give in return.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Molesley's familiar voice tore her out of her reveries. He must have noticed her irritated expression and quickly explained, "You seemed a bit … away, lost in your own world."

"I was", she admitted ruefully, "And I apologize. Thank you for the dinner, even if I was terrible company."

"You weren't terrible", he objected, putting emphasis on the last word to make sure she understood his joking. She smiled, feeling slightly less embarrassed about her behavior than she had expected to be.

In that very moment, Joseph Molesley wished this evening would never end. If he was forced to stay there forever, in the stuffy and overcrowded pub that was filled with loud, booming voices of men getting drunk and that served below-average food, he wouldn't have minded a bit as long as Miss Baxter was there with him, smiling and lost in her thoughts long enough for him to study her face without the fear of being caught staring. But the clock chimed, barely audible among all the noise, reminding him both of the time and the train they had to catch.

They weren't late yet but would be if they lingered any longer so he hurried to the counter to pay for their dinner. When he returned to their table, Miss Baxter was already waiting for him, fully dressed in her light brown winter coat and hat that made her look so much more lively than the black lady's maid's dress he was accustomed to.

"Come on, we better hurry", she said, nudging her head towards the front door while she tugged on the hem of her gloves to adjust them.

"Yes, we better", Molesley agreed, offering her his arm.

* * *

"Thanks", Phyllis muttered when he pushed the wooden swinging door open and held it for her. She stepped out onto the narrow pavement of the alley that was covered in a thin layer of snow, then turned around to face her companion just in time to see him put on his cap and pull his scarf around himself a bit tighter in an attempt to shield him from the icy wind and the falling snowflakes. The cap was slightly worn and not exactly in style – many other male servants preferred the more formal bowlers - but it suited him well, it was a look that Phyllis liked, so different from the usual footman's livery.

An amused smile appeared on her lips when one single snowflake found its way under the hat and right on top of Molesley's nose. He grimaced and wiped the tiny snowflake off, then returned her smile with an offended look in his eyes, not at her – she had come to understand that by now – but over the realization that he had been mocked once more, and by the innocent snow to make it worse.

The fresh air and quietness of the street surrounding them was relaxing compared to the crowded, smelly pub, the noises from the inside now only a faint humming sound in the background. It was late and the dark winter sky not very welcoming for any wanderers, and Phyllis felt a little tinge of uneasiness creeping up inside of her. She wasn't afraid of the dark but wary of the dangers lurking in the shadows, and they weren't in the most upscale area of York. With Mr. Molesley beside her she felt oddly safe, not simply because it meant she wasn't by herself or because he was a man but because he was him. However, they had to be at the train station soon and she had no desire to stay in this shabby alley longer than necessary and risk some unpleasant encounter with a local drunkard.

"Let's go", she said determined, beckoning him to follow her.

Phyllis moved to take a step backwards and at the same time sensed herself being tugged into the opposite direction. Someone shouted, she closed her eyes instinctively.

The next thing she felt was a rough pain in the back. Then she heard the sound of a car driving away down the small street. Why hadn't she seen or heard it coming? Slowly, cautiously, she opened her eyes only to look up into the concerned face of Mr. Molesley. They were standing almost face to face, with her pressed against the cold stone wall of the building, the shock of what had happened clearly written on both their faces and for a moment, Phyllis almost forgot how to breathe. She wanted to reach up to him, it would be so easy to touch his cheek and pull him even closer towards her and … Unconsciously, she bit her lip upon noticing his hand was still firmly around hers, still protecting her even after the potential danger had long passed.

Molesley must have clearly felt it, too, the opportunity this incident had offered them. There it was again, that something in his eyes that often flickered up between his more prominent emotions. She had used to tell herself that is would be better left ignored, that it meant nothing. Oh, how silly she had been, when it meant everything. It changed everything. Phyllis turned down her gaze, slightly smiling at their joined, trembling hands, knowing that as soon as she would look back up again, she would see her own feelings reflected.

And oh yes, they were. Phyllis couldn't remember ever being looked at like in this moment. There was nothing but love and kindness in those blue eyes that were fixed on her face. On her lips, rather.

The door behind them swung open all of a sudden, carrying the noise outside, and gone was the moment. Molesley was squashed even closer to the woman before him, if that was possible, by the flying door.

"Watch where ya standin', will ya!" an angry voice reached her ears.

A drunken man staggered out of the building and down in the opposite direction, not before making a nasty, rather obscene comment at them. It was almost a comical sight, really, how they stood there, pushed against each other, eyes wide open in shock at the close proximity. Phyllis could have laughed if she hadn't felt the urge to cry so much.

After a minute or so of awkwardness and silence, Molesley stepped back and turned around, just about to shout some reply towards the direction of where the man was walking.

"Don't", Phyllis pleaded softly, her voice slightly creaking. "There's no time for a fight, and my virtue isn't worth it."

Molesley looked at the small figure before him, still pressed against the wall, looking at him through big, begging eyes. She was so pure and precious to him, there was nothing he wanted more than to protect her, to be good for her. He shook his head over the way she talked so lowly about herself. She couldn't have been more virtuous in his eyes. It surprised him to ends and not at all that she had wanted to kiss him, too. For the first time in his life, it felt as if everything that was right just naturally fell into place.

"We really should get going", she suggested once again, nudging her head in an attempt to take his attention away from the retreating form of the pub visitor. She didn't suspect he would say something after her pleading, but she really didn't want to risk anything. Drunk people often meant trouble if provoked, she had learned that lesson in the past.

"Yes, we should", Molesley agreed after short contemplation. He fixed his cap that had almost fallen off when the door had been slammed in his back, and offered her his arm with a half-smile that didn't leave any room for arguing.

* * *

"I'm sorry", Phyllis said, stopping in her tracks just before they reached the station. The walk had been a bit awkward, with both of them knowing exactly what could have happened there in front of the pub. If it hadn't been for the sudden interruption, they would have kissed. Mr. Molesley would have kissed her. The thought flooded her whole body with feelings buried so deep inside her that she had assumed she would never be able to feel them again. She felt funny that the mere idea of a kiss could still make her react like this, after all those stolen kisses and more in the past that she had never lost a second thought on.

"If I hadn't been so careless, we wouldn't -"

"No, don't be, please", Molesley shook his head, turning around to face her.

"Does it feel … unresolved to you, too?" she asked, not completely managing to hide her nervousness.

"Unresolved?" Molesley all but squeaked. "But of course, it does. I have a half-day next week, we could come back and continue with the search. I'm sure we'll find someone who remembers seeing Mr. Bates."

"Oh, that!", she was fast to agree, even if Mr. Bates had been the last person on her mind only a second before, "Yes, I will see what I can do about that half-day."

Phyllis didn't mind so much that Molesley had gotten her question wrong. In fact, whether it was Mr. Molesley's undiscerning nature or purpose, she was thankful that he had kept her from broaching a delicate subject in an entirely inappropriate place. She wasn't sure if bringing it up again might not have ended in her actually initiating a kiss right there and then, making everything so much more complicated and embarrassing than it was already. They might not have been able to act on their feelings yet, but they could be sure of them now. And for the time being, that would have to suffice. Phyllis smiled.

They caught the last train back to Downton just in time.


End file.
